Skating on Thin Ice
by Lala Kate
Summary: <html><head></head>Sometimes the best thing to hold on to is another person. Modern AU.</html>
1. Chapter 1

_Written in response to this prompt on tumblr: _minervadeannabond said:Mary/Charles, blue and silver, Rockefeller Ice Rink at Christmas, "the cold never bothered me anyway." _I hope you enjoy it!_

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><p>Why in God's name had she allowed Sybil to talk her into this?<p>

She hates ice skating—she always has—but Sybil had been so keen on Mary coming along with her and Tom that she had finally given in just to make her sister shut up.

"Mary—let go of the rail!" Sybil calls out as she and Tom glide by gracefully. She shoots them a dirty look, tightening her grip on the cold metal she can feel even through her gloves. She is then pitched forward with brute force as a teenaged boy crashes into her from behind, pushing her into a congested line of traffic skating in the opposite direction.

She braces herself for impact as a large group speeds towards her, only to feel herself gripped firmly around the waist and maneuvered quickly to safety.

"Are you alright?"

Her breath is far ahead of her voice, and she stares up mutely into dark eyes gazing back at her in concern. She nods, watching as he leans in closer.

"Are you sure?" he continues, cupping her chin as if checking her for bruises. God, he smells good.

"Yes," she sputters, irritated to hear her teeth chattering like a frozen chipmunk's. "Just terrible at ice skating."

He then grins at her, revealing dimples that make her legs unsteady for reasons unrelated to the skates on her feet.

"Care for a partner?"

She eyes him with hesitation, torn between the desire to get off of the ice entirely and to hold on to this man she who looks good enough to eat.

"I might make you fall," she warns, the flick of his brow letting her know he has accepted her challenge.

"I'm pretty steady on my feet," he muses, offering his arm. "Besides, the cold never bothered me, anyway."

She guffaws quietly, and he laughs with her as she accepts his offer, her feet moving in opposite directions almost at once.

"Steady," he cautions, helping her regain her balance before leading them away from the rail.

"So you're a Disney fan?" she questions, clutching his arm for dear life.

"Yes," he answers, working his other arm around her waist for support. "But I've almost had enough of that movie. My daughter has it memorized."

Daughter. Is he married? She can't tell with the thick gloves covering his hands.

"How old is she?" Mary asks, not wanting to sound too obvious right off the bat, wondering if her lips are turning blue.

"Five," he returns, holding her a bit closer. "Going on sixteen, unfortunately."

She bites her cheek, wondering how often she had heard her father say the same thing about her when she was growing up.

"Is she here?" Mary questions, afraid to search the rink, having no idea what the girl looks like, anyway.

"No," he replies. "She's with my parents for the weekend. She's very close to them."

"I'm very close to my grandmother," she states fondly. "I'm not certain what I'll do once she passes."

She notes a flinch in his cheek, his eyes focusing straight ahead.

"I'm glad Molly has them," he voices. "They give her a much needed break from Daddy, sometimes."

"And her mother?" she asks boldly, drawing his eyes back to her once they successfully maneuver the turn.

"Passed away," he answers, and she squeezes his arm reflexively. "Two years ago last month."

"I'm sorry," she gushes, wondering if she could manage to slide under the rail and vanish. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Why not?" he shrugs, his expression still somewhat distant. "I did ask you to skate."

"Wasn't that out of sympathy?" she inquires, finally seeing those dimples emerge once again.

"Only partly," he confesses, biting his lower lip. "Actually, that was just a good excuse." She feels her cheeks warm in spite of the heat, watching as silver crystals fly from the ice. "I suppose I should ask if you're married now that I've given myself away."

"No," she answers resolutely.

"Engaged? In a serious relationship? Searching the ice quickly for a man you can bribe to pose as your boyfriend to get me to leave you alone?"

She laughs openly at this, feeling his answering chuckle.

"No, no, and I think that man in the Bullwinkle hat will do nicely."

He pulls her a bit closer then, grinning as he guides them around yet another curve.

"I'm Charles," he offers. "Charles Blake."

"Mary Crawley," she returns, noting the way Tom and Sybil are staring at them as they pass. "My sister and her husband," she adds with a sigh. "They made me come tonight."

"Remind me to thank them," he states, and she watches as he clears his throat, suddenly sounding nervous.

"So, do you always pick up clumsy women at ice rinks?" she questions.

She hears his exhale as he slows their pace somewhat.

"I haven't had the urge to ask a woman out in two years."

His confession nearly makes her slip, and he guides them expertly to the rail, coming to a halt just in front of her.

"I'm flattered," she states, wondering if that is an appropriate response or not.

"I'm the one who's flattered," he returns, his eyes dropping to his feet. "That you actually agreed to skate with me."

"I was desperate," she teases, and he laughs again, the sound of it warming her insides like brandy.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in some hot cocoa?" he asks, making her ears feel suddenly hot.

"Only if there's food to go along with it," she returns, earning herself a genuine smile. "I'm starving."

"So am I," he notes, offering his arm yet again. "Shall I go and state my intentions to your sister and brother-in-law? Promise to have you home before midnight?"

"Only if you also promise not to let me fall," she muses, taking his arm once more, gliding back onto ice that suddenly feels less threatening.


	2. Chapter 2

_I hope you enjoy this continuation. :) Obviously, I don't own Downton Abbey. Dedicated to thefoodofloveismusic. _

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><p>They linger over soup and bread, conversation slipping from work to entertainment, glances hovering, fingers brushing over dipping oil and sideways smiles. She tries to warn herself away from him, but she can't make her reasoning for such an action stick.<p>

He's funny. He's sharp. He's a dad. And he's a man who has been hurt yet is still obviously attracted to her. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's got dimples that could melt an iceberg and eyes the color of warm coffee.

"Molly," he grins, handing her his phone, allowing her to stare at a dark-headed little girl with green eyes, a missing tooth and mussed braids.

"She's adorable," she states truthfully, feeling something inside her soften at the pride in his eyes. She scans through other pictures, ones from a recent birthday party bedecked in _Frozen_ paraphernalia and loads of sparkles, others from a day at a pumpkin patch somewhere outside of the city. "And rather adventurous, too, if these photos are any indication."

"She'll be the death of me," he muses, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. "But I don't know what I would do without her." He sighs as she looks at him and hands back his phone. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to spend our entire evening being the doting parent."

"It's alright," she assures him quickly. "She's a huge part of your life. It's only natural you enjoy talking about her. I'd honestly be worried if you didn't."

The smile he gives her does something to her, something she likes even though it sets off warning bells on her logical side. Then his hand reaches across the table and takes hers cautiously, making her jittery and girlish and precariously close to allowing herself to actually be interested in a man after years of caution.

"How is it you've never been married?" he questions, staring at her as if he finds that fact impossible to believe. "I can't believe there are that many idiots running around New York."

"I can," she hums back, making him chuckle. Fingers part with some reluctance when the waiter brings their hot cocoa, and she smiles indulgently, wrapping her hands around the mug and breathing in the aroma. "And I survived a rather nasty engagement. You should know that I'd sworn off men until two hours ago."

"Ah," he muses, taking a sip and smiling. "Then I'm a lucky man." That smile gets to her again, making her cross her legs to deal with an ache she shouldn't entertain this early in the game. "How close were you to the altar?"

"Two months," she answers, watching his brows raise in acknowledgement. "And one day, I finally admitted to myself that I was marrying him for all the wrong reasons."

"Poor fellow," he observes, grinning at the pointed glare she fires his way. "I'd say you broke his heart."

"I don't know," she returns after another drink. "We were both turning thirty, both under pressure from our families to find someone and get married. He was cute, I was restless, and we found ourselves engaged before either of us had thought it through."

"So he took it well?" Charles questions, leaning forward in obvious interest.

"Not really," Mary admits with a slight roll of her eyes. "He exploded. It wasn't pretty."

His forehead creases as his lips purse together.

"Just how ugly was it?"

A finger traces the top of her mug as she takes a slow, calming breath.

"Very," she answers. "He nearly got violent, broke things in my apartment, and actually scared one of my neighbors so badly that she called the cops. He left before they arrived, but sent ugly texts and left threatening messages on my answering machine for over a week. I had to get both numbers changed."

"God," he exhales, raking his fingers across his scalp. "No wonder you swore off men. Should I fear you've possibly slipped something into my cocoa?"

She chuckles and takes a sip of her own, twitching her brows back at him playfully.

"That depends," she hums. "Do you like to live dangerously?"

He sets down his mug, reaching out for her hand again slowly, stroking her knuckle with his thumb.

"I haven't for years," he answers, looking from their hands to her face. "But I'm feeling rather adventurous tonight, and I'm not certain what to do about it, to be honest."

Her heart hammers as her throat constricts.

"Same here," she whispers, her pulse jumping into her temples, her fingers trembling as they intertwine with his. "I'm usually not this impulsive."

"Neither am I."

Eyes lock in an attempt to read each other, mutual attraction and want palpitating between them so strongly she's half-tempted to crawl on to his lap.

"I'd very much like to see you again," he manages, clearing his throat. "If you'll let me, that is."

His thumb is now dancing circles on her palm, making her inner thighs even warmer than her drink.

"I'll let you," she breathes, shifting in her seat. "But does that mean our evening is over?"

His eyes darken as he bites his lower lip, and she wonders how the air around them became so thick so suddenly.

"It doesn't have to be," he murmurs, his words unleashing heat across her cheeks as he summons their waiter for a check that can't arrive too soon.


	3. Chapter 3

_I hope you enjoy this continuation of this drabble-verse. I love this pairing too much, and writing this AU is a joy. And all this from a prompt submitted on tumblr. :)_

_Hugs to all you lovely readers. Your feedback is always most welcome and very much appreciated!_

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><p>The walk for a while, hands entwined through warm gloves, gazing at the Christmas lights their excuse for continually extending their evening. But the night's chill finally convinces them to take cover, and they make their way to the subway, he insisting that he'll see her safely back to her apartment before returning to his home. She lets him, stands closer to him than necessary on the subway, thrills a bit too much at being jostled against him on the journey, revels at the way he puts his arm around her waist to steady her balance.<p>

He doesn't let go as they emerge from the train, and she shivers at the feel of his hand on her hip, even through layers of sweaters, coats, and gloves. Suddenly, the way their breaths intermingle in the cold air seems romantic, and she chastises herself for entertaining such notions, even as she refuses to break contact with him.

"Is this alright?" he questions as he inches her snugly under his shoulder.

"Do you hear me complaining?" she quips, and he tightens his grip just so, making her feel cozy and protected and more than a little aroused.

"Your nose is red," he notes as they approach a lit awning, and she rolls her eyes, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"Just call me Rudolph," she quips, eliciting a grin that melts what's frozen.

"You're far more attractive than an overly-publicized reindeer," he tosses back, and her cheeks heat in time with the rest of her body. God, when was the last time she actually blushed?

Then again, when was the last time she let a man walk her back to her apartment, hoping he might try to follower her upstairs?

"So red noses turn you on?" she dares before biting her lower lip, wondering if she has pushed things too far. They stop as they round the corner to her block, and he pulls her to him in the shadows, touching her nose lightly.

"On you?" he asks, his voice no more than a whisper. "Most definitely."

She is lost then, caught up in this mad impromptu evening out with a man she's known but a few hours. She likes him—she really likes him, and his smell is intoxicating, a mixture of winter and pine and something spicy she can't quite identify. Then noses touch, his every bit as cold as hers, and she swallows audibly, staring into eyes that are now just there, eyes gazing back at her as if she is a banquet and he a starving man. God, she wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him, and she attempts to summon up the courage to do just that as he leans in, finding her lips at just the right angle.

She gasps, catches her breath, and moves her mouth against his, drowning in the sensation of lips touching and bodies pressing close. He tastes like warm cocoa, and she tugs on his coat, drawing him nearer, encouraging him to continue. The contact is electrifying, and she opens her mouth to him fully, allowing him entrance, half-intoxicated by the way this man has re-awakened senses long-dormant.

"Mary," he breathes before claiming her mouth again, cupping the back of her head, losing his fingers in her hair. She moans into him, unable to stop herself, clutching his body as they find themselves pressed up against a wall.

Her muscles are trembling now, the cold and his mouth doing things to her that should be illegal. Especially this soon. Especially on a first date.

They drift back from each other slowly, noses caressing once again, gazing and touching wordlessly before a bitter wind pelts them out of nowhere.

"Come on," he states, pulling her back to his side. "Let's get inside before it starts to snow and we have to use that nose of yours."

She laughs, gazing up at the sky and noting the thick cloud cover, vaguely recalling a forecasted winter storm supposed to hit in the wee morning hours.

"Good idea," she agrees, already increasing her pace to match his as they make haste in their journey. She guides him into her building, taking him inside with her, stopping by the elevator to look into eyes that somehow appear darker than they had at dinner, staring at the mouth she wants to kiss again.

"Would you like to come up?" she questions, attempting to steady her hands as the words leave her mouth. "Maybe have some wine to warm you up before you have to face the elements again?"

He nods, his eyes moving from her face to his shoes then back to her.

"That sounds lovely," he states. "I'm surprised our mouths didn't freeze together out there."

She bites her lower lip, looking back at him mischievously.

"I thought it was their antlers men concerned themselves over in the cold," she dares, his answering chuckle deep and smooth, albeit a bit nervous.

"Kissing you did more for my antlers than you can ever know," he murmurs, and she makes an appreciative sound, leaning into him as the elevator makes its way slowly to the ground. She nudges just below his ear with her nose and hears the slight catch in his breathing as his face turns three shades of pink.

"Now who's all red?" she quips, feeling hesitant expectation in the manner he touches her back as they climb on to the elevator. The ride up is quiet, her nerves are scattered and alight. Is the elevator warmer than usual tonight, or is it just her, she wonders? Just how far will things go between them in the privacy of her apartment?

How far does she want them to go? Further than she should on a first date.

"Here we are," she muses breathlessly, tossing him a grin as they emerge on to her floor. She walks him down the small corridor, fishing her keys from her coat pocket and opening the door with shaking hands. He notices, and lays a hand on her arm, halting their progression inside.

"You don't have to invite me in, Mary," he assures her. "I know this is all very sudden and completely unplanned, and I'm not expecting us to, well, I mean…."

She touches his face through her gloves, moved by the way his eyes close at the contact.

"I know," she breathes. "Believe me. I don't usually invite men I've just met to my place after one dinner and hot chocolate. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I have no idea where this will go tonight." She pauses, swallowing past the thickness in her throat. "But I'd like to see what happens. If you're game, that is."

"I'm more than game," he manages, his breath hot on her cheek, her heart pounding in her ears. "And scared out of my mind."

"Me, too," she whispers, wondering for the umpteenth time over the past few hours if she has gone completely out of her mind. She sighs nervously as he touches his forehead to hers, feeling more from the brief contact that she can logically justify.

"Are we insane?" she questions, her voice deeper than it had been but seconds ago. "For even thinking about this?"

"Maybe," he answers, stroking the side of her face with his glove. His lip twitches reflexively, and he inhales, casting her a glance heavy with promise and shifting restraint. "But if this is insanity, it's rather alluring, isn't it? Red noses and all?"

She grins as she nods, and he holds her, her pulse pounding between them like an out of control drum line. Seconds tick by, his presence both comforting and warmly erotic.

"Well then, Cupid," she hums, licking her lips, stubbornly pushing down her last nerve as she tugs him in her direction. "Shall we go inside and see what reindeer games might ensue?"

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><p><em>So what happens next? Thoughts? ;)<em>


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